Lucky Me
by The Mighty Gamersaurs
Summary: Its been 20 years. Lincoln finally had enough and had the guts to run away from it all. After recieving a letter from his late grandfather, Lincoln reconsiders his options. Does he go back to them? After all these years? Does he take his new family with him? Only time will tell. Lincoln’s only hope is that things don’t go out of hand.


Lincoln licked his teeth in patience as the coffee machine continued to pour the energizing liquid into his mug like a faucet in a sink. He held the handle of the mug with his left and rubbed his tired eyes with his right. Seconds later, Lincoln pushed the power button and the stream of coffee halted to a stop. The man took the mug and exited the secondary kitchen and went into the main room. Placing the mug next to his favorite chair, Lincoln took a seat on the chair and breathed a lazy yet relaxed sigh.

The window let in comforting amount of sunlight and Lincoln, for a moment, thought today was going to be a good day. As if the universe itself went against his wish, the shrill sound of tires screeching against pavement invaded the white haired man's ears. James was home. Lincoln took a sip of his coffee and stood up, ready to participate in James' daily antics.

Lincoln left the main room and headed downstairs to the front. The large metal door slid open and James' old and grizzled features shined through the teasing sunlight. The elder man walked inside and took off his coat, irresponsibly throwing it on a nearby couch. He reached in his pocket and gave Lincoln the bag... Inside was Oxcarbazepine, Gabapentin and Topiramate.

James raised an eyebrow. "She having a bad day?"

"Their all bad days for her."

James merely walked across the hall and to the living room and found a seat to sit on. He cracked his knuckles, the tight knots in his hands were melting away. "Is Omar awake?" He asked.

Lincoln pulled the medication box out of one of the cabinets. "I don't think so. I made her breakfast a few minutes ago, pick it up."

The elder man rubbed his brow with his index finger and thumb. He didn't want to deal with this, but he had to. Lincoln finished setting up the pills and syringe for Charlie. To think, what was once a proud, intelligent, motherly woman is now a senile, demented, and uncaring broad twenty years later. Lincoln remembered when she took him in under her guidance. She gave him a purpose. She gave him a family that he never knew he'd have again. Before Lincoln could continue his trip down memory lane, James entered the room with the tray of eggs, toast and cereal in his hands.

Lincoln held the medication to him. "Your turn. I had a rough night."

James scoffed. "Poor you. Can you at least carry the tray, or are you too tired for that?"

"Shut up."

The two men walked across the halls and corridors of the massive estate and left through the back door. There,in the distance, lay the shed. It was worn and aged as much as the estate, but it was still stable. The sun hurt Lincoln's eyes, the light was better to look at from a window. Still, the deed had to be done.

James pushed the hefty door open and the sunlight took its chance to invade another untouched space. The bright light swallowed as much darkness as it could but halted when James locked the door in place. Both men walked in slowly, and the sound of her wheelchair grew and grew.

Charlie's room was rather large, small holes stained the ceiling while various lamps hanged from weltering power cords. Her bed was almost at the center of the room but parallel to the miniature garden that stood a few feet away from it. Noticing the tiny details sketched in Charlie's room would've been easy if she weren't traveling in circles, mumbling gibberish to herself.

The old woman stopped. With minor manipulation of the remote, her wheelchair swiveled around and Lincoln and James came into her view. She tilted her wrinkled neck almost playfully. "Friends! I bring you good news today!"

"It's not about whatever you do," she continued, " it's not about your misdeeds, you just can't live up to God's rules! And he knows that you can't, but it's okay, we're all imperfect!"

James was already in front of her by the time she finished her little ramble. Lincoln stayed by the doorway, he knew better than to get in between James and Charlie. Did they always have these antics? Even before he knew them?... Now wasn't the time for questions, he decided.

Charlie kept her head down. "Make way, sir..." James ignored her and took out the syringe from the bag, the rattling bottles of medicine soon followed.

"I said make way!" Charlie yelled.

James took a step forward and Charlie wheeled herself away from James' direction. She was half-mumbling half-singing a nursery rhymes; _Run Run as fast as you can. You can't catch me, I'm the gingerbread man! _Eventually, Charlie's fun came to a stop. James was in front of her again, like a obstacle that refused to be ignored. He knelt down and rolled up the sleeve of her cardigan.

"Who are you?" The fear in her voice almost made James quiver.

He refused to let himself be vulnerable. "You know who I am."

"Are you the man who puts me to sleep?"

"We both could use some sleep, Charlie." James tapped the syringe and aimed it at her exposed arm.

"No!" Charlie swung at James with her right hand and clawed at him with her left. James fought back by trying to restrain her, but Charlie's childish behavior caused her to reel back and fall out of her wheelchair. A painful thud filled the room and Charlie groaned.

Lincoln put the tray on a nearby shelf and stepped in to help, but James, panting, held up his hand; a silent order for Lincoln to stay still. James tried to ignore the pain in his arm and neck, and turned back to Charlie, who was shivering on the floor.

She cried. "Why do you this this to me?"

"Charlie..."

Her shivering and quaking increased, her whole body was shaking spasmodically. She was having a seizure. James instinctively turned back to Lincoln, yelling at him to get back, and the white haired man obliged. James grabbed the syringe and held Charlie as best he could with his other hand. The syringe gently stabbed her shoulder and the solution was injected into her system. The seizure came to an end.

Charlie gasped and choked out ill whimpers as if she hadn't breathed in ages. James stood up and gripped onto the corner of a table, the adrenaline draining from him.

"What day is it?" Charlie suddenly asked.

Lincoln walked around the pair to handle the wheelchair while James used whatever strength he had left to pick up Charlie and walk to her bed. Charlie did nothing, she was too exhausted, the bed felt comfy however. Lincoln handed the bag to James and the elder man nodded. James took out one of each pill and handed them to Charlie.

"What are these?"

"Don't play dumb." James told her. "You know what they are. The shots mellow the seizures, and the pills keep them from happening."

Lincoln gave James a cup of water and James gave it to Charlie. "Try blowing on them. It'll probably make them safe." He teased.

"Fuck off, James."

"So you remember me now?"

Charlie just gave him a stern look and drank the concoction of water and drugs. James halted, being an asshole wouldn't solve anything. Before he could apologize, Charlie gave the cup to him and said "You always leave me alone with that fucking albino, he never listens to me."

Lincoln glared at Charlie. _I'm in the room too_. James waved off to Lincoln, telling him to go see if anyone else was awake. Lincoln nodded and left, now before closing the door rather aggressively.

Charlie shook. "What was that?"

"Don't worry about it." James turned back and set the wheelchair next to Charlie and opted to leave.

Charlie's voice stopped him. "Where are you going?"

"I'm just checking on the others. Get some rest."

"No! I have questions! What did you do? Why are we here? What happened? Answer me! This isn't my life, I'm stuck here, drugged up inside a fucking shed-"

James opened the door. "It's for your own good!"

"No! No it's not! Why are you-?" The closing of the door was imminent. James has left.

"You're waiting for me to die in here!" She yelled to no one.

**•O—O—O•**

Lincoln's coffee was cold now, but he didn't mind. It was easier to drink. The white haired man heard the sound of a faucet turning off and figured Omar or Fiona were awake. Then the sound of someone trekking downstairs replaced the faucet a minute ago. Lincoln looked over and saw Omar reach the bottom. He looked at Lincoln and waved... But was it Omar? Lincoln had to check.

"Omar?"

The other man nodded. Good.

Lincoln continued. "Where's Fiona?

"She just woke up. She'll be down in a few minutes. Is James back?"

"I'm in the kitchen." James spoke from the other room.

"Should I make breakfast?" Omar asked.

Lincoln shrugged. "Do what you want."

Omar left to the kitchen, probably to talk to James. Lincoln, now finished with his drink, walked upstairs and back to his room. Everything was left the way it was, no one had entered besides him. Good. Everyone here enjoyed their privacy, especially Omar and James, so it was a unanimous agreement that everyone keep their space from each other.

Lincoln stepped to his desk and pulled open his laptop. The home screen was dim and low, multiple files on the right side while the left side contained all the apps. He opened the file with Charlie's name on it and typed in the date on the document. _September 14, 2036_. Another seizure recorded. Coincidentally, her last seizure was also on Sunday.

Closing out of the file and shutting off the laptop, Lincoln exited his room to see what was for breakfast. When the white haired man entered the main kitchen, he saw Fiona sat on a chair beside a table, a plate of eggs and sausages in front of her. James sat opposite of her direction while reading the newspaper, his own plate filled with the same food.

"Yours'll ready in a minute." Omar spoke, not even turning over shoulder to look at him. But both his voice and posture were clear signs, as well as his choice of clothing. It was probably Seth. Lincoln pulled up a chair and sat with his family.

"Is she resting?" He asked.

James nodded. Fiona raised an eyebrow and said "She didn't have another one, did she?"

Both Lincoln's and James's silence was enough of an answer.

Seth turned off the stove and Fiona sighed in annoyance. "She needs a retirement home. You know she needs one."

As usual, James held deliberate ignorance to the obvious. It was brand fact that he refused to let Charlie go. Seth gave Lincoln his breakfast and James his coffee. The elder man put the paper down and took out a bottle of Gin and poured it in the coffee.

"I don't wanna a fight," Seth suddenly spoke, "but I don't know if it's considered naggin' if I were to repeat my previous observation, that the dose is to low to suppress the seizures."

James drank his coffee. "It's what the guy gave me. I wasn't in any position to make demands."

"She could've died this morning." Fiona interjected.

"She needs a higher dose, you know she does, but I know you got more money squirreled away." Seth's voice returned to the conversation.

Lincoln tried to keep the peace. "Guys..."

James ignored him. "That money's getting us out of here."

"Not us." Seth corrected. "You and her. God knows what ditch your gonna leave us in after you're living the high life with her."

"Guys." No success.

"I don't need this shit." James growled. "Especially from you."

"It's not our fault that-"

"Stay outta this." James prodded his ire toward Fiona before she could even finish her sentence.

"Guys!" That caught their attention. "Fighting won't solve anything. Let's just agree that this isn't exactly our American Dream. Okay?"

Everyone voices in their cooperation and Lincoln continued to eat his sausages.

Even in this family, he was still the peacekeeper.

**•O—O—O•**

"Bye." Lincoln said.

Fiona gave a playful salute and and left the door. Moments later, Lincoln heard the blaring sound of her motorcycle, the rumbling slowly getting quieter the more distance she was putting herself away from her home. After all these years of knowing the spunky redhead, she never revealed what her job was. Fiona, James and Lincoln were the only breadwinners in the estate. Lincoln worked for the government whenever they needed him. James' new job consisted of him driving upperclassmen in a limo, which was one of the reasons why he always wears a suit.

Honestly, Lincoln couldn't wonder why James hadn't retired like Charlie. The man was almost seventy, yet he looked like he was fifty. Omar tried getting a job a couple times, but was always turned down because of his condition. Did Omar ever have a job? Lincoln remembered; ten years ago, when Omar and Lincoln first met, he told him that he got fired from his last job after they found out about his disorder.

Charlie had shown compassion and understanding for the broken man, and Omar had a look on his face that said _Wow, finally a reason to live_. Of course, due to legal reasons, if Omar wanted to live Lincoln, Charlie, James and Fiona, he had give information on his disorder. Dissociative Identity Disorder, it was called. Omar gave paper and video documents containing his records (involvement with the authorities, hospitalizations, etc.) and Lincoln was mixed with shock and amazement. Apparently his previous psychiatrist put him under this weird hypnosis; if a threatening identity was ever present, these hypnosis light thingies would strobe and give an off set ringing noise that forced Omar to switch. Lincoln still remembered the psychiatrist's words in one of the videos.

_The mixture of the light and noise will force a new identity to take over._

When Lincoln and Fiona tried to watch the videos, Charlie told them not to, that they should_ respect Omar's privacy_. But the temptation was too high. It was so strange... Yet they couldn't take their eyes away from the screen. Though Lincoln would never admit out loud, watching Omar switch from identity to identity was a little scary. It made him think, how fucked up was Omar's life in order to make fourty-seven other identities? Fourty-eight? Lincoln didn't remember. Omar's condition was equally interesting as it was confusing. He'll probably talk to him about it later.

On second thought... Why not now? Fiona was off at work and James was most likely spending time with Charlie. Lincoln wasn't getting any emails from his employers and Omar had plenty of free time. Clicking his tongue, Lincoln set off to look for the multiple. At first, Lincoln checked all the spare rooms, but no avail. He wasn't in the kitchens or in the basement, nor the attic or with James and Charlie. Did he go out? It was a possibility, but there was one key place Lincoln hadn't checked. Omar's room.

Now, Lincoln was willing to respect Omar's privacy, but he Omar don't really spend that much time together. Also, _no one_ enters Omar's room without his permission. It just made him more mysterious. Despite the knowledge of his disorder in everyone's mind, he still felt the need to hide it at all times. Should he go in there? Lincoln wasn't gonna do anything drastic, he was just gonna see if Omar (or any of the others) were in and talk with them. No harm.

With courage and moral on the white haired man's side, he opened the door. The first thing that Lincoln noticed is that it was the cleanest room in the whole estate, courtesy of Gordon. The walls looked like they were made out of rock, imperfect and set in stone like dry clay. The lights gave off a yellow tint that surrounded the entire room. There were children's drawings on one corner of the room and sketches of clothes on another corner near a desk. Behind the desk was a closet filled with a cacophony of different clothes and outfits. A large bookshelf perched on the far side of the room, parallel to the children's drawings, that had a collage of different types of books. Paintings sat near the couch that was in front of the bookshelf and more and more details flooded the fairly sized room, but Lincoln couldn't count them all.

Omar wasn't here. He had to go. But... The computer on the main desk was open. Was it an accident? Just a notification? The home screen was open so that couldn't be the case. Lincoln stepped closer to the technology. The blue screen was filled with names that had little folders next to them. Lincoln grew curious. It wouldn't hurt to look at what Omar was up to, right? It won't be the end of the world. Plus, this was out of good intention. Lincoln just wanted to know more about the Arab American man. He clicked the link that had the name _Orwell_. The video feed opened and Omar was seen wearing a green wool sweater with a red collared shirt peeking underneath, the red collar of the shirt was above the neckline of the sweater. He also wore large brass rimmed glasses, the type that old men wore. He was speaking.

"_With regard to Chahamana's defeat and Muhammad of Ghor's conquests between 1192 and 1200, I would liken it to Muhammad's __brazen__ ultimatum that put Prithviraj either apostatize or fight. Like Prithviraj's __defiance__, we should stand up to these societal advances. In the face of their scare tactics; we should show that the empowerment of the repressed and fallen is astoundingly inevitable. __As in 1008, when Anandapala suffered the Shahis' most crushing defeat and Mahmud overran the entirety of the Punjab region, taking the famed temple of Kangra. We have been wronged by this alliance, this conglomeration that we call a democracy. Their actions do not represent us, at every-"_

Lincoln closed the video. So Orwell was a historian. Let's see... Who else? Eleanor sounds interesting. He clicked her link. Omar was now wearing a frilly black and red dress with a gold necklace, as well as silver bracelets on her wrists. She had a worried look on her face.

_"Este es mi primer diario de audio. Realmente no sé qué hacer. Estoy preocupado por Omar ... es un chico tan dulce. Michelle me asusta, tanto ella como Gordon. Solo el señor sabe lo que están planeando. Me duele el corazón por las cosas que nos sucedieron a todos. No estaba bien."_

Lincoln closed off the video. Yes, he could understand Spanish, but he didn't feel like translating _everything_ Eleanor said. Should he go for another? No. Enough is enough. But... this was ample opportunity to dissect each of them. One more, and that's it. Final decision. So... who's next? Xander might be intriguing. Lincoln clicked his link. Omar was now wearing small glasses with rectangular lenses that were rimless on the top. And a white dress shirt that was underneath an autumn colored sweater vest. On top of it all was a brown classic style blazer jacket. He looked intelligent. Educated. Xander began to speak.

_"Я считаю, что теория-"_

Lincoln closed off the video immediately. He couldn't understand Russian if his life depended on it. Still, it was amazing that all of Omar's alters were so diverse and different from each other. They all had the same face, but each one had their own quirk. Alright. That's enough. Lincoln turned off the computer and decided to wait for Omar while in his room.

Though the wait was two hours long, it was worth it.

**•O—O—O•**

Omar decided that today was actually going better then he thought. Yes, Seth and James got into a little squabble this morning (thanks a lot Seth!), that was redeemed with his talk with Lincoln four hours ago. The white haired man in question was at the supermarket stocking up on more food, and Evan wanted to come with because he wanted candy. It was a good thing that Stewart stopped him and reassured the little boy that they already had candy for him.

Omar could always count on the Others to take care of things... Even if they tried to control his life twenty four seven. For example: He never got to eat what, or how much, he wanted. Stewart always made him watch his weight; Jane bitched if he ate anything with milk, so none of the ice cream he loved; Gordon wouldn't eat out at all because nothing was ever clean enough for him; and Michelle... Michelle was just a bitch, and Omar would bet his last dollar that that pompous diva secretly loves junk food but refused to eat it, just for the satisfaction of showing him who's boss; Evan—that little bastard must have a hotdog fetish or something. _If I never see another hotdog in my life... _And don't even get him started with the rest of them (specifically you, Buford!).

Still, he cared for them and they cared for him. It was just... Some of them were a bit much... And unstable. There was Meredith, who was always horny; Samuel only talks in third person; Dahlia communicates by whistling and loves controlling people; Caldwell has this sick fetish for hair and wouldn't stop smiling; Yvonne was unpredictable at times and B.T. was just creepy. Eh, enough about them.

That talk with Lincoln was great, it was nice to know somebody cared about him and not of the Others. No offense to them of course, but he was the original. Numero Uno. It took ten years for him to finally gain control of his life and gain some self confidence, and he wasn't gonna turn that all down. This was his time now (was that a _Goonies_ reference?).

_We get it, you're important. La dee fucking da!_ He heard Jane speak.

_Oh hush_. Now Dr. Harrison entered the mental conversation. _I think it's good that Omar is taking control of things, he deserves it._

_Power to you, dude! _Ian (unsurprisingly) shouted.

_Can you guys please keep it down... _Quinten groaned. Omar could feel Tex nod with him.

_Quinten, honey, go back to sleep._ Beatrice's soft voice came through.

_Stahp babyin' de little lad, Bea._ Kat's criticism cut through. Omar's headache was increasing.

Lars sighed. _This is pointless. _

_Lighten up, Lars._ Rakel tried to cheer him up.

Before Upamanyu had his say, Stewart intervened. _Guys, quiet down and take a minute. We're givin' Omar here a migraine._

Eventually everyone left the stand, and Omar thanked Stewart for his help. Not hearing them constantly argue and bicker was a huge relief. Now... What was he gonna do? Oh right, Paulina wanted to out for a jog.

All he had to do was wait for her to take over.

Shouldn't be problem.

... Right?

Omar never had to be honest with anyone. It was second nature to lie, to conceal, to deceive... Even to himself. Omar was pretty sure no one wanted his honesty in the first place. He saw how foster kids were treated—the looks of pity and even exhaustion people would give them. He didn't want that.

The few times he'd tried to be honest with people it never ended up how Omar had hoped.

Mother had ingrained into Omar that if he even thought about telling someone what she did he would be in a world of hurt. Nothing like what he'd ever known. And no one would believe him, anyway. Good ol' Mom would never hurt her precious son—she was too good a woman. Mother gave food to the National Muslim Society every year, Mother came to all the student teacher conferences—she was sorry she couldn't take a more active roll at the Bake Sale and School Dances, it was exhausting being a single mom and 'taking care of the others' and all the teachers understood. She was just a big teddy bear! She was a sweet woman! There was nothing suspicious about her.

Except maybe that son of hers… Now he was a troublemaker, all right. He was too quiet—he didn't speak up enough during class. He does well in some classes, but needs to improve in all. Is he reading his history books at home? What about his family tree project, has he started that yet? Omar needs to make friends this year, he really needs to try and find a good group of buddies. Why doesn't he? I know he's a kind boy, he just needs to try and be a little more outgoing…. Does he need to speak to the school counselor? No… He doesn't want that… Well, Omar, you're going to have to do something. Middle School will be here before you know it. They don't just let that sort of thing slide.

Omar, at this Middle School we don't tolerate the kind of disrespect you've displayed towards the teachers, your peers and even yourself. Do you even want to succeed? Are you even listening to me? You're gonna flunk out if you don't pull it together.

Now Omar, this is the third time we've met this semester. Do you want to be expelled? It's surprising, for a boy whose so prodigal yet outspoken in class you sure don't say a whole lot when it's time to be disciplined. You don't have anything to say for yourself? I'm out of ideas, Omar, I don't know what you want me to say.

What's going on… Is there something at home... Did something happen?

I've met your mother, Omar, she's a good person. I pride myself on reading people and I know she's a good person. You know a lot of kids don't have the family that you have—they get sent straight into foster care. You should consider yourself lucky.

You know I've heard Omar cuts himself… Attention whore. Is that his name? He told me his name was Buford. I thought his name was Goddard. He even told me his name was Thelma or Norma or something. He's such a freak. I bet he's gay, he acts gay sometimes. That's why he hangs out in the locker room all the time, he wants to check out all the boys, he's such a fairy. He yells at the teachers sometimes too, he's SUCH an attention whore. I heard his dad died a long time ago or something and he probably just uses that as an excuse to be a bitch. He's SUCH a bitch! He was in our group for English and yeah he wrote his paper or whatever but he had such an attitude about it. He was speaking a different language too. Weirdo. God… I swear to god he wears the weirdest clothes everyday. I saw him in a dress once. And I've MET his mom, she's SO nice. What the hell is his problem? I heard he like, ran away or something. I've never met anyone so pathetic. Someone should teach him a lesson… Someone should fucking fight him.

Did you hear he and Andrew and Yousef got in a fight? Spaz didn't do anything at first, he just let them smack him around until he like freaked out and fucking went batshit crazy on them… Yousef literally had to go to the hospital! He's like, an actual animal… He's crazy... I feel so unsafe around him. He's a pervert. He's gonna snap one day, I swear to god, and I do not want to be around when THAT happens. They all got detention but I think Omar got it worse… Serves him right. Fucking bitch. Finally got what was coming to him. Pathetic.

**•O—O—O•**

"This is what happiness truly looks like, James."

The old man nodded. "Yeah."

The couple continued to stay in place. This silence was enough to keep them content from whatever outside force that managed to get passed the doors. This was their peace, their sanctuary, their freedom. This was their livelihood.

Charlie interrupted the silence. "James." The man looked at her. "When I'm gone, I want you to be careful out there. Be safe. And live life."

James furrowed his brows and buried his pain by giving Charlie a kiss on her temple. "I'll do my best."

"I know you will."

Now the silence was becoming uncomfortable. Claustrophobic. James didn't like the mention of death, it was a reminder that he was alone. He looked at Charlie. _Not entirely alone_. James propped his hands and stood up, taking the chair and folding it against the side of the shed.

James said. "Hey, Charlie, it's almost dinner time. You wanna stay in the shed or eat with us?"

Charlie looked up at him. "Being with you all would be lovely."

**•O—O—O•**


End file.
